He watched her
silhouette against
the window shade. Even in low light and at a distance he could make
out the curve of her breast as she lifted her arms to change her blouse.
The pile of butts beneath the tree was growing--he'd been there three hours,
waiting for her return. She'd been with the schoolboy again; he could
smell him on the air as she made her way up the walk.

His frustration
was like a corked volcano. How Harmony had laughed when, during their last
encounter, he'd murmured the Slayer's name at a crucial moment. Since then
he'd avoided Harmony, and even that release was lost to him.

If he'd known
to whom he might pray for deliverance, he would have pleaded for the release
of his demon, that he might battle the Slayer and kill or be killed.
But the bit of technology buried in his brain removed any hope of such
a simple catharsis. He closed his eyes and recalled his favorite
fantasy--the one where she chose him over the schoolboy, her little soldier-man,
thatguileless hunk
of muscle and sincerity that regularly partook of the only thing he burned
for these long nights. He'd lost his appetite and grown thinner--even
the freshest butcher's blood had lost its savor.

It wasn't like
him to miss her approach. Leaning against the tree, his eyes closed in
reverie, he hadn't noticed the front door open. In the last second, when
it was too late, he'd caught her scent. The Slayer greeted him with a sharp
cuff to the jaw that sent his head back into the tree's trunk.

"What's up, Spike?
Dawn says you've been out here for hours. Something I can do for
you, besides end your miserable excuse for an un-life?"

He rubbed the
back of his head ruefully. "Certainly can't say you haven't had your chance.
When'll you finally get on with it, Slayer? Your threats are old
and I'm beginnin' to think you've not got the wrinklies for the job."

The Slayer took
two steps forward and in an instant had a handful of that very part of
Spike. His eyes widened and he swallowed a groan, afraid it would
sound more like pleasure than pain.

"My wrinklies
are in fine working order tonight, Cadaver Boy. Now, let's start
again. WHY have you been hanging around my house? And don't play
games, I'm not in the mood." She punctuated this statement with a
less than gentle squeeze.

Spike gasped and
grimaced, fighting for control.

"Let go, Slayer.
I won't say it again."

"Is that so?
I rather think you're not in a position to be making threats." Her
grip tightened once and then released, but she did not step away.
At that moment, the clouds shifted, and a nearly-full moon revealed the
expression on Spike's face. He struggled to hide the burning in him,
the desperate ache that threatened to bring him to his knees.

The Slayer saw
it there, only for an instant. She was confused and suddenly frightened.
Something vibrated within her. She recognized it and it angered her.

She lifted her
fist to strike again, but she was off balance. Spike ducked and pivoted,
and the Slayer found herself flattened face-first against the tree.

Spike leaned forward,
tentatively at first, then pressing himself full-length against her.
She did not struggle, but was strangely still. The tension was exquisite
in that moment. She felt the bark of the tree against her cheek,
the solidity of its trunk against her body, and her mind went to ancient
things that had always been and would always be.

He pressed closer
and she awoke to other sensations. His lips, his teeth, so close to her
skin, yet she felt no alarm. His arms about her, nearly protective
in their grasp. And something elsea rising hardness against her lower
back. She smiled shamelessly and arched herself against him. Her
power over him at that moment was great, and she reveled in it.

Spike's body tensed
in agony. The very real danger of his position was clear to him, and his
instinct for survival begged him to flee. But other instincts were stronger,
and when she moved against him, he could not control his response. A low
growl rumbled in his chest.

He pressed ever
closer, knowing that in a moment it would end. She would knock him
back, throw him into the bushes, and--if he were very lucky--dust him dead.

"Bitch."
His voice was hoarse with desperation. "Stake me. Finish it.
I can't bear it any longer."

"Well, Spike,
you never cease to amaze me." He loosened his grip and she turned
to face him. There was a flush on her cheeks and triumph in her eyes.

Her words were
taunting. His desire was clouded by anger and he grabbed her and
forced her back against the tree. He dropped his lips to her ear
and whispered.

"So sure of yourself,
sweet Slayer. But why don't you kill me, then?"

Her breath was
soft, but her answer stung. "I'm not into to slaying cripples."

He gasped and
his fingers bit into her arms. The chip gave a warning spark, which he
ignored. Still, she did not fight.

"A cripple, am
I? Careful, pet. Provoke me one too may times and we'll see
how crippled I am. I expect you'd be surprised."

The Slayer knew
that it was time to end the dance. And yet she persisted, failing
to recognize the peril in her tacticsand refusing to acknowledge the heat
that she felt between them.

"Go ahead, Spike.
Surprise me. I'm game."

His lips on her
flesh were, at the same time, icy and melting, as they searched for and
found the sensitive spot at the base of her throat. She felt his
teeth graze her neck but registered no fear, realizing that her blood was
not what he sought. He pressed her back against the tree, grinding
himself into her with an intensity that stopped her breath, and when he
touched her mouth with his, she knew she was lost. The very hard, very
cold tip of his tongue made feather-like circles on her own, and she felt
her entire body clench.

Finally, he pulled
away, and the cool air on her face was a shock. He looked at her
closely. His body was taut with the need to continue, but he had no desire
to take her by forceeven if the chip in his head would allow it.

She dropped her
eyes to hide, and he leaned in one final time.

"Oh, Slayer, what
we couldn't do together. I've lived a long time and I know what makes
a man a good lover."

"You're not a
man--you're a monster."

He chuckled softly.
"You have me there, pet. But I could make you cry for me like a child--and
forget that smug schoolboy forever. I could make you lose yourself
in pleasure--drown in it, 'til you didn't know your own name."

His words were
taunting, but his tone was oddly tender. Still, she was humiliated
by her own weakness, and rage coursed through her, obliterating desire.
Her head made solid contact with his chest, and he went reeling, back into
the bushes. She was on him in an instant, stake drawn, ready to end
it.

Spike sprawled
in the bushes as she straddled him. He lifted his head to meet her
eyes, and in his face she saw his hunger, coupled with a longing for death.
She could not do it, but neither could she admit to herself why she could
not finish him.

"I could kill
you now and no one would care, Spike. Not anyone, alive or dead,
would mourn you. How does that feel, knowing that you are so utterly
alone in the universe?"

"Yes, go on, be
a bitch, make me feel bloody awful, but please do get on with it, won't
you?"

"You'd like me
to make it quick, Spike? Just when I'm enjoying your misery so much?"
The Slayer leaned over him, grasping him tightly with her legs, noting
with satisfaction that he remained hard within his jeans. He groaned in
defeat.

"You want me to
beg, is that it? Is that how you get your jollies, you silly bint?
All right, so be it. Please kill me. Please."

The intensity
of his plea stopped her cold. She leaned in closer, until she was
nearly lying on top of him. Her breath came fast on his face, and
he shuddered in an exquisite agony.

"No, Spike, I
don't believe I'll kill you tonight." Her whisper was barely audible.
"I like this new side of you I'm seeing, all vulnerable and humble.
And I like to see you suffer." She leaned in and bit his lower lip
hard, tasting it with the tip of her tongue. Spike jerked and bucked
forward, throwing her off and jumping to his feet.

"I'm no cripple,
Slayer. I don't need your pity. And someday very soon you'll
know it. When I finally take you, you'll know very, very well."

"Oh, Spike, you're
pathetic." But she couldn't meet his eyes as she tucked her stake
away into her jacket and readjusted her clothes.

He straightened
with wounded dignity. He had lost this round, as he had so many before,
but he sensed a change between them.

She lifted her
face into the dim light for one moment, and what he saw surprised him.
There was no pity there, only confusion, and for a moment he felt sorry
for disrupting her grip on reality. But he knew that this burning
between them was not to be denied for much longer, and even as he turned
to leave, her words echoed in his mind: "Go ahead, Spike. Surprise me.
I'm game."